


Kissed By Fire (Fucked By Snow)

by stubliminalmessaging



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Halloween Costumes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m going to a Hallowe’en party in two weeks,” Ian informed Mickey over dinner one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissed By Fire (Fucked By Snow)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a stupid idea i've had for a while and i was too busy partying this weekend to actually post it before halloween like the failure i am. hope it's still alright lol

                “I’m going to a Hallowe’en party in two weeks,” Ian informed Mickey over dinner one night. Mickey didn’t even look up, swirling his spaghetti noodles around his fork and stabbing a meatball. Ian picked at his food, a little nervous at what he wanted to talk to Mickey about. “It’s a work thing. It’s like thirty bucks but they feed you.”

 

                “Better be a good fuckin’ dinner for thirty bucks,” Mickey grumbled around a mouthful of food. “If it’s a buffet make sure you eat your money’s worth.”

 

                “It’ll be sixty though,” Ian said quietly, staring down at his plate when Mickey’s movements halted and he set his fork down on the edge of his plate with a clatter. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and massaged his temples, letting out a long breath through his nose. Ian went on. “I put us both down on the sign-up sheet in the office.”

 

                Ian tried not to laugh as Mickey’s eyebrows did that thing they do and he pursed his lips in the way he did when he was about to rip a bitch apart. He continued eating his dinner like the conversation was done but it was far from that.

 

                A sharp intake of breath was the only warning before Mickey unleashed a rant of epic proportions onto Ian about how he hated parties and he hated Hallowe’en and he hated people and Ian _knew_ that and he still did this fucking thing and Mickey _really didn’t fucking want to go_.

 

                Ian endured it all and apologized and explained that he just wanted to spend time with Mickey and it would be fun and he was _proud_ to be with Mickey and he wanted them to do things together and for everyone to know that they were together. He didn’t _try_ to guilt trip Mickey but that’s what it turned into. He would eventually apologize to Mickey for manipulating him but when Mickey grudgingly agreed to go to the Hallowe’en party he was too excited to do much more than lean across the table and kiss Mickey.

 

-

 

                “...the fuck is this?” Mickey asked when he came home from work a week later to find Ian standing over piles of different fabrics and cutting out parts from patterns. Everything was very organized and a sewing machine that Mickey had never seen before was sitting on their kitchen table, shiny and fancy and no doubt expensive. It reminded Mickey too much of a time years ago when Ian had been a lot less stable, overflowing with ideas and energy but unable to focus enough to see anything through. “Did you buy a fucking sewing machine? Do you even know how to sew?”

 

                “No. I’m getting help,” Ian said, looking cheerful and all too alright with the situation their apartment had found itself in. As if on cue Sheila appeared in the doorway of the hallway leading to the washroom and their bedroom. She smiled and waved when she saw Mickey, who greeted her, still feeling confused as he went to the kitchen to empty his lunch bag.

 

                Ian followed him into the kitchen and settled in behind Mickey, kissing at the side of his head and hugging him around the waist. Mickey leaned back against Ian’s chest and Ian explained, feeling the tension ease out from Mickey’s shoulders.

 

                “I decided what we’re going to be for Hallowe’en and there’s a lot of work involved so I thought I should get started as soon as I could,” Ian told him, rubbing at Mickey’s stomach through his shirt. “I showed the costume to Sheila and she went with me to the fabric store and helped me get what we needed. And she’s staying for dinner so we can make a lot of progress tonight.”

 

                “There’s a lot of work?” Mickey asked, nudging at Ian until he stepped away and then turned to face Ian and leaned back against the counter by the sink. “Just what the fuck did you sign me up for?”

 

                “ _Us_ , babe.” Ian insisted. “ _Us_.”

 

                “Yes, okay. Fuckin’... show me, then,” Mickey said, gesturing for Ian to lead the way back to the table and the sea of fabrics waiting for them there. Ian gave him a hopeful little smile and leaned down to plant a kiss on his lips. Then he stepped back and took Mickey’s hand, pulling him back to the table. Mickey picked up a scrap of fabric and frowned down at it.

 

                “Is this leather?”

 

                “ _Pleather_ ,” Ian replied, taking it from him and setting it back where Mickey had picked it up from. He was clearly very dedicated to his piles of fabric and wanted to keep things organized. That made the scale of the project seem massive and made Mickey feel nervous. “No animal skin involved and it’s way cheaper.”

 

                “That’s good,” Mickey said. “But what’s it for?”

 

                “You’ll like it,” Ian promised. Mickey just blinked at him. “It’s a surprise,” he declared.

 

                “...why would I agree to something if I had no fuckin’ clue what it was?” Mickey asked. He eyed the pleather piles on the table skeptically. “Especially when that shit is involved.”

 

                “Don’t think about it,” Ian said, digging into the sewing bag sitting on the chair and pulling out a rolled up tape measure. “Now stand still so I can take your measurements.”

 

-

 

                Ian’s surprise didn’t stay a surprise for very long. After the first night pieces of the costume were actually looking like something familiar and when Mickey found a curly black wig in their closet his suspicions were confirmed. Mickey came home from work the day before the party to find Ian fast asleep sitting up on their couch and he knew what he had to do.

 

                Mickey quietly walked back to their room and pulled on the Mickey-sized pieces of his costume, including the wig which he pushed back into a mess of curls. He crept back out to their living room and took a seat firmly straddling Ian’s hips.

 

                Ian woke with a start when Mickey’s weight settled on him and it was so familiar that he reached up and gripped Mickey’s hips. His eyes snapped open when he felt the pleather of Mickey’s pants and the fake fur of his cloak.

 

                Mickey thought Ian would act all guilty and be speechless but without missing a beat he said in a horrible impression of Tyrion Lannister; “You must be Ned Stark’s bastard.”

 

                “Yeah,” Mickey said. Now that he wasn’t being sneaky he didn’t need to hold back. He settled down in Ian’s lap and gyrated his hips against his boyfriend’s for a moment. “But who are you?”

 

                “...assuming the point of this whole confrontation is that ‘it’s a surprise’ isn’t a good enough answer,” Ian said and based on Mickey’s eye roll it was true. Mickey was way too sassy and not sad enough to be a convincing Jon Snow, it seemed. “Well now that you know you’re Jon, you know that I’m going to be from Game of Thrones.”

 

                “Twenty questions?” Mickey asked, still grinding down on Ian maddeningly slowly.

 

                “N-no,” Ian whined, squeezing Mickey’s hips but doing nothing to stop him. “You’ll get it in like two questions and I want it to be a surprise.” He let out a long groan and tipped his head back against the back of the couch, and Mickey promptly took the invitation to kiss and nip at his bared throat.

 

                Ian couldn’t take Mickey’s teasing for much longer and after only a minute of having his neck ravished Ian rolled abruptly sideways and got Mickey under him. He kissed Mickey hard and ran his hands all over the costume, groping at the body underneath and within minutes he had Mickey swearing a very different kind of vow.

 

                Mickey silently admitted that maybe this costume thing might not be the worst thing ever.

 

-

 

                “I hope your costume looks half as stupid as mine,” Mickey grumbled on the night of the party when Ian was helping him put on his costume. His chin itched and he went to scratch it but Ian slapped away his hand so he wouldn’t smear the mascara that acted as his rugged Night’s Watch stubble. “You should have asked me to stop shaving like a week ago.”

 

                “You put it together easily enough – you didn’t need even more clues,” Ian said, adjusting the clasp on Mickey’s cloak and looking him over with a grin. “And for the record, you don’t look stupid. You look hot, as evidenced by the fact that I’ve fucked you in different parts of the costume four times since yesterday.”

 

                “Nah, that just proves you’re a fuckin’ weirdo,” Mickey said. He looked down at Ian’s casual outfit and frowned. “When are you getting dressed?”

 

                “In a minute,” Ian replied. “Yours is more complicated than mine.”

 

                “I still don’t know what it is... do you have to wear a wig?”

 

                “No clues. I don’t want you to guess it,” Ian insisted. He gestured to Mickey’s outfit. “You’re done, so I’m going to get dressed and then we can go.”

 

                “Okay, but one question: what if you’re really hot in your costume, ‘cause let’s face it; it’s likely, and I wanna bang?” Mickey asked, and it was really surreal to see Jon Snow with a different face calling him hot and potentially asking for sex.

 

                “You’ll have to save it ‘til after the party,” Ian told him, leaning down to peck Mickey on the lips before he turned and disappeared into their bathroom to get dressed. Mickey sat down on the edge of the bed and fiddled with the handle of the sword Ian had provided him. He’d complained about how it didn’t look anything like Longclaw but Ian told him that he had to get over it. (“How can I be the sword in the darkness with this flimsy piece of shit?” was an actual thing that he actually said. “I’ll give you a sword in your darkness,” Ian had mumbled and Mickey had punched his shoulder. Ian nearly lost it at his whiny nerd rage.)

 

                It was about ten minutes before the door to the bathroom opened back up and six feet of hot ginger wildling stepped into their bedroom.

 

                “Tormund,” Mickey said with a grin. He stepped in closer to his boyfriend and ran a gloved hand over the furs layered over Ian’s chest. (Ian thought back to how Mickey had rambled about how Tormund wasn’t tall and hot and redheaded in the book but agreed that he preferred the appearance of the show version.)

 

                “You like it?” Ian asked even though the way Mickey was practically salivating was a pretty good indication of his feelings about it. Mickey gripped him by the fur that made up his lapel and pulled him down for a kiss. Ian groaned in protest into his mouth about how they were probably smudging Mickey’s stubble but when one of Mickey’s hands snuck down to cup his dick through his pants he soon forgot about that.

 

                “We’re gonna be late,” Ian said breathlessly when Mickey gave him a second to breathe and moved down to bite at his neck.

 

                “That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Mickey said, sliding to his knees and untying the laces of Ian’s pants.

 

                (They never made it to the party. Ian’s coworkers were disappointed but he told them something came up and internally giggled about his accidental dick joke.)


End file.
